


salt water

by minhyukie (thelogicoftaste)



Category: GOT7, JJ Project
Genre: Break Up, Divorce, Dubiously Hopeful Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:21:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26194807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelogicoftaste/pseuds/minhyukie
Summary: The silence stretches out between them, thin and brittle. And then, Jaebeom’s mouth parts, he licks his lips. “This is—. It’s the right thing to do, right?”
Relationships: Im Jaebum | JB/Park Jinyoung
Comments: 10
Kudos: 68





	salt water

**Author's Note:**

> for the prompt: 'would you mind writing a divorce jjp fic? 👉🏾👈🏾'
> 
> ask and ye shall receive ♡

-

When Jinyoung returns the pen to the table, a neat _snick_ on polished wood, there’s a sense of finality he didn’t expect. Though maybe he should have. 

It’s a dull feeling, settled hard and heavy in the base of his throat. He closes the thick leather folder, obscuring his signature amidst a jumble of legalese he’d half read, half-drunk on astringent soju. He pushes both this and the pen away from him, towards where Jaebeom sits. 

There. Done. Half a lifetime, squared away. 

Youngjae sweeps himself up at Jinyoung’s side, holding the wide flaps of his too-large grey suit jacket, before leaning over to offer the other lawyer a brief handshake. 

“Thank you,” she murmurs, reaching over. Jinyoung doesn’t look up, but he can imagine the plastic elasticity of her smile, a muted variation of the intensity with which she approached him at the beginning of their session. A hand outstretched, smile polite and too wide, as if he’d be happy being here. She takes Youngjae’s hand, “It was a pleasure working with you, Choi Youngjae-ssi.” 

“Mn,” Youngjae echoes, clear over the whirring noise of the AC system. “Pleasure.” 

There’s a split second of hesitation where she turns to him. Jinyoung holds himself steady, shoulders back, hands tucked on his lap. Tells himself that, in any chance, future encounter—in a supermarket aisle, or gas station pump, or the myriad of other places they’re likely to bump into each other in this godforsaken magnet of a city—he will be kind to her. Just—not now.

At her side, Jaebeom stands with a long scrape of his chair. The quiet murmur of his voice flushes over Jinyoung. Movement forms shadows in the mid-afternoon sunlight, a handshake, a bow. Jinyoung’s head judders with the effort to stay still. He parts his lips, takes in a slow breath. 

And then Jaebeom and his lawyer are sweeping out of the boardroom, signed divorce papers neatly tucked into an unassuming folder. 

-

“Jinyoung-ssi?” Youngjae asks. He’s half-bent into a bow, hand still tucking that loose jacket flap to his stomach. “Are you ready to go?” 

The air conditioning unit shuts down. Everything has been put away now. And Jinyoung arrived at this meeting with nothing but his car keys jangling in the pocket of his trousers, though, somehow, he feels like he’s walking away with even less. 

“Can I have a moment?”

Youngjae takes a quick breath, hesitating. “I’m sorry. I can’t really leave you alone in here,” he says. “The room is booked and the firm is pretty regulated about things like—”

“Okay,” Jinyoung says, not quite meaning to interrupt. He manages to look him in the eye, then, offering a wan but firming smile. “Thank you.” 

-

On the way to the elevator, Jinyoung chances on a sign for the bathrooms and veers left. It’s blissfully empty, echoing in the cold, clinical way of upscale places. 

When he’s done he washes his hands slowly, and then sinks his palms on either side of the sink, letting the cold seep into him. 

He thinks about what he will do next. Yes. Breaking it down into small manageable pieces: he will exit this bathroom. He will leave this building, turn left and walk all the way down past the bus terminal, the 7-11, and the new spaghetti bar to get to the pay-per-stay car-park. He will get in his car and drive home. He will probably see Yugyeom on the couch, eating some discounted instant bibimbap instead of writing his assignment. He will cuff his little brother around the ear until he writes his assignment. He will make dinner. He will sleep. Yes.

Resolved, Jinyoung steels himself and stands up straight. The door to the bathroom, when he opens it, carries forward with the effort of someone else pushing it in. Jinyoung loses his balance and falls back against the tiled wall of the narrow walk-way. 

There’s a grunt and then Jaebeom’s face looming over his—far too close. Jinyoung can almost taste the coffee on his lips, feel the scent of him, curling tight and warm over his skin. Jaebeom’s hands are splayed on either side of his head, and he looks just about as awkward as he feels. 

Jinyoung twitches, knees buckling, “Do you mind?” 

“Oh. Shit,” Jaebeom says, flinching back. The air cools, and there’s just enough space between them to breathe again. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to.” 

“It’s alright.” And then. “Excuse me.” 

Jaebeom doesn’t move though, blocking the door with his eyes on Jinyoung. 

Jinyoung holds back a sigh. “It’s free,” he says, nodding towards the stalls and the wall of urinals.

“I don’t need it,” Jaebeom says. And then, at the puzzled look on Jinyoung’s face, “You were in here a while.” 

“And?” 

“And nothing, Jinyoung-ah,” Jaebeom says. “I wanted to know you were alright.” 

“I am. I’m fine.” 

“Really?”

“Yes,” Jinyoung replies. He digs his thumb into his palm. “I’m not going to go into hysterics because we got a divorce. People get divorced all the time.” 

The word still stings, but it’s dulled with age now, and the weariness of a long-drawn out process. He remembers their vows. He remembers that first kiss. He remembers hissing at each other, standing on either side of an unmade bed, _‘I will_ not _be just another statistic.’_

Jaebeom’s eyes are clouded over, dark. He avoids Jinyoung’s gaze and passes his fingers through his hair, over his unshaven jaw. “I never expected us to end up here.” 

Jinyoung hums; spreads cold fingers over the cool tile behind his back. “Me neither.” 

The silence stretches out between them, thin and brittle. And then, Jaebeom’s mouth parts, he licks his lips. “This is—. It’s the right thing to do, right?” 

Jingyoung exhales on an unexpected laugh; a burst so bright it reverberates across the bathroom. He covers his mouth, knuckles pressing into his smile. 

Jaebeom rolls his eyes, the line of his shoulders loosening a little. “It’s not funny.” 

“It’s a _little_ funny.” 

It’s ridiculous actually—huddled up close together with his ex-husband, in the restroom of their divorce office. It’s _funny_. 

“Now would be a little late for regret,” Jinyoung says. “Jaebeom-ah. Jaebeom. We both wanted this.” 

“I know. I still do.” Jaebeom sighs. “Sometimes—” 

“This is the first conversation,” Jinyoung interrupts, “we’ve had in months that hasn’t ended up in an argument. The first time in months that we’ve tolerated being in the same room as each other, much less—.” He glances up, mouth drying. Jaebeom’s so close that just a careful tilt of the head could mean pressing their lips together. 

They realise this at the same time, pulling apart like sticky molasses until there's a trench of cold, dense air firmly between them. 

Jaebeom doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, wiping them down on his overcoat. “I, uh,” he starts. “I heard you were moving?” 

Yes, Jinyoung doesn’t say. All the way up to Seoul and maybe somewhere east, somewhere with air that doesn’t cling to salt-water like Tongyeong does. “Mn.” 

“Anywhere nice?” 

Jinyoung takes in a deep, careful breath and very deliberately does, not, answer. 

“Ah,” Jaebeom exhales, and he gets it—lips caught in a hesitant smile. “Okay,” he says. “I understand.” 

“It will be better this way,” Jinyoung tells him, falling, without meaning to, into comforting. “Without us picking at where it’s sore. It won’t last forever, you know that. Once we’re past this, we’ll see the good in it.” Maybe. Probably.

Jaebeom is quiet for long enough to feel awkward. At last, when Jinyoung is scrabbling to find a way out, he says, “I would like that. Seeing the good in it.” And then the corner of his mouth lifts in a crooked grin. “Maybe we can even stand to be around each other again. Be friends.”

“Sure,” Jinyoung lies. He sees the way that Jaebeom’s eyes shift and knows he’s been caught, their intimacy always made him so easily readable after all. And while Jaebeom hates the idea of never seeing people again—those he cares and cared about—dislikes it with vehemence, the thought of it nurtures some relief in Jinyoung. A clean start; bitterness flushed out. They talked about it often, tangled up beneath thick blankets, when it seemed like healthy differences and not deep-rooted incompatibility. “I need to get going.” 

“Can I walk you to your car?”

Another breath. “No,” Jinyoung says, unfolding creaking bones from the wall. “But thank you.” He skirts around Jaebeom—taking in a quick, guilty memory of his scent—and using a coat-covered hand to open the door. “See you around, Jaebeom-ah.” 

Jaebeom traps the door open with his foot, but lets him go ahead. 

“Jinyoung,” he calls out, waiting until Jinyoung turns back to him. “Take care.” 

“I will,” Jinyoung says. And this time, when he leaves, he doesn’t look back. 

.

.

.

.

.

.

Jinyoung doesn’t actually expect to see Jaebeom ever again. But, of course, the magnetism of Tongyeong brings its people together even outside of it. 

Even in a tiny bar off of Un-yang station in Gimpo, with unavoidable sticky surfaces and shitty lighting. But there he is, lipstick in a thick smear over his left cheek and beer clutched in one shaking hand. Six years and an entire country over, and here they are with familiarity in the same salt-water humidity to the air and hesitancy between them. 

Jaebeom gestures vaguely at his cheek. “My dongsaeng’s idea of a prank. He’s around here somewhere.” 

Jinyoung knows. The kid had bumped into him approximately thirty seconds before Jaebeom had. He leans back towards the bar, and picks at the pile of napkins, reaching into the middle where it’s less likely to be damp and gross. 

“Suits you,” he says lightly, offering him it even as he bites down on a smile. Jaebeom scrubs at his cheek, pink and flustered.

“How are you?” he asks, soft dark eyes following him even through the thick smog of club lighting and smuggled in cigarettes. 

Jinyoung takes a gulp of his own drink, makgeolli coating sweet over his tongue. He hums, catching Jaebeom’s gaze and holding it. “Still a little sore, I think.” 

-

**Author's Note:**

> i've never been to tongyeong, or been married, or divorced! literally, just here for a good time ~(˘▾˘~)


End file.
